Be Not Afraid Of Greatness
by TenTenD
Summary: AU! The newly established Empire grasps at power with both hands. Between celebrating masses and civil unrest lies the mundane from which an individual of little importance is plucked and thrust upon the world's stage. Melia Motti struggles to find her place in the Galactic Empire. When one is a pawn, one is expandable. Thus she decides to rise in the eyes of her betters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A bit of a clarification, this fic borrows material appearing in _Legends_ and canon, but will in itself not follow the canon story line. It's an attempt to write a somewhat decent Vader/OC story, with hopefully some meat to its bones. Mostly this is written for fun. ;) Opinions are appreciated, but I would rather not have flames if it can be helped.**

 **Hope you enjoy this first chapter.**

* * *

"Melia Motti, you are daydreaming again." Jumping guiltily at the sound of her aunt's voice, the addressed Melia turned around in order to face the advancing Thalassa Tarkin. Her aunt's statuesque form came to a halt before her own seated self. "Whatever am I to do with you, girl?" Though tinged with exasperation, the words were not unkind. "Stand and let me look at you."

Doing as she knew she must, Melia gently rose, allowing her aunt to give her the once over she'd promised. A critical judge and ever difficult to please, the older woman wrinkled her nose. "This will never do. You cannot appear before the Emperor dressed as pauper." Melia looked down at herself. She did not believe there was anything particularly objectionable about her garb, but then it had been provided by the lady herself and thus one supposed she'd thought it fitting.

"This is to be a grand occasion," Thalassa continued. "And my husband is counting on us to preserve our good image." Glancing over her shoulder, she ordered her droid to fetch the tiny box from her rooms. The tiny box, unlike it's name suggested, was a fairly large miniature chest containing all manners of adornments. Once in possession of the box, her aunt rummaged through pulling out all items that struck her fancy. Before long, Melia had been brought up to a standard which pleased the Grand Moff's wife. "Melia, dear, you might exert yourself to speak a few words."

"Forgive me, aunt, I simply do not know what to say." She glanced at her reflection. It was not that she took issue with the clothing, or even with the obvious display of wealth. In fact, she quite enjoyed the effect of shimmery sparkles, foolish as it made her feel.

"Then you had best find your words until we reach the banquet hall, hadn't you?" Melia gave an uneasy nod, thinking to herself that in spite of her sumptuous apparel, she was no more elevated than before.

"I will try, aunt." Thalassa declared herself pleased, reminding her that she had long before they must leave. The woman departed, presumably to see to the last of the necessary preparations.

Melia turned from her reflection. The Grand Moff's wife had been kind to take her in, especially considering the remote degree to which they were related. But she would never be able to meet the woman's demands. Her conversation, even in the best of circumstances, was lacking. What if she spoke the wrong words? What if she dashed any chance at respectability? What if she foolishly exposed her kin to peril? No, she had to guard her lips, she had to halt any reckless behaviour, else she would end up like her parents, dead before her time.

Perhaps she was being a tad overdramatic. Smoothing a palm over the long fall of her skirts, Melia considered the dark shimmersilk. It was a lovely piece in its simplicity. She had loved it the moment she saw it. It was nothing to the elaborate dress of her aunt or to the garb senators of the Old Republic used to wear. In other words, she would attract little enough attention. Then there would be no need for her to find her words, or to appear charming and witty. She could find a little corner all of her own and sit the revelry out.

Melia did her best to assume a neutral expression as she left her room for the vehicle which was to transport them to the Imperial Palace. The two stormtroopers in attendance nodded at her entrance. "Calo. Farn," she acknowledged. "I hope I have made good time."

"As always." Calo, the more expansive of the two lead her to the customary seat she occupied. "Planning to dance the night away, kid?"

"It remains to be seen." She added a small smile to that, hoping the words had no come out too harsh in her delivery. "I hope you shall have a good time of it as well."

A droid entered the shuttle, carrying her cloak. Melia draped it across her knees and gave her thanks absently. For a brief moment she recalled a moment from her childhood, holding a similar cloak in her arms. Not quite as fine as the one in her lap, but her mother had cherished that piece of cloth. She recalled putting it on the fire along with the last of her parents' possessions.

Before she could sink into those very memories, Thalassa finally announced her arrival with a sharp order. Her aunt was seated but a moment later, her cloak draped securely around her shoulders. Looking over to her, she tsked, pointing to a tendril of hair. "Did you not put enough gel in that, girl?"

Melia drove the stray strand back, praying it would stay in place. She did her best to secure it. "I am certain I have." The result of her fumbling seemed to please the older woman, for she nodded her head at long last

By that time, they had already taken flight. The shuttle was relatively fast, thus they would make it on time. And even more so because, not unlike her husband, Thalassa left nothing to chance. Melia had not been given a chance to forget what was expected of her either.

"Now, pay attention," Thalassa snapped her out of her thoughts. "You will not have to do much but follow my lead. Smile at those I smile and keep your distance from those I do not favour in such a way." Melia nodded obediently. "If I leave you alone in the presence of a man, do your best to engage him in conversation. And for your own good, attempt to sound as though you prefer that to being skewered."

"I shall do my best." Thalassa shook her head at the promise, though she had a somewhat amused smile upon her face at the same time. "Truly, aunt, I will speak to whomever you wish."

"That's a good girl." Appeased the woman launched into a discussion of what her success might entail. "If you acquit yourself with grace, there will be much for you to look forward to." Those words offered some measure of hope. Aunt was not unreasonable; in her own fashion she might even be pursuing an enviable fate for her. She was simply more concerned with the immediate gains which successfully launching Melia into high Coruscanti society might throw her way. Hopefully, playing her part adequately translated into later reprieve.

The shuttle was quick to convey them to their destination. Calo and Fran walked close behind them as they stepped upon the red carpet, offering a warm welcome to the new arrivals at the Imperial Palace. Melia gazed up at the structure in awe, before her gaze shifted to the curious glanced thrown their way by those milling about the gardens. Some were guests, or so suggested sumptuous attires. Others were doubtlessly servants engaged for this occasion, with their droid helpers close at hand.

Aunt did not linger overlong beyond a brief perusal of the courtyard. She tugged Melia along, reminding her that the Grand Moff had left clear instructions. As per orders, the two troopers engaged for their protection, led them to the great lobby where the head of the household awaited them.

The Grand Moff had a soft greeting for his wife and a mildly approving look for her. Melia had the distinct urge to tug on the choker wound around her throat. She resisted the impulse, settling for a shaky smile as man and wife exchanged words that she was unable to make out on account of her thoughts rioting against the occurrence she knew must not be long in coming to a head. If, however, she thought her aunt might tolerate some amount of fumbling, she was fairly certain the woman's husband would not. And that knowledge only worked to amplify her unease.

Whatever her feelings, however, she was forced to push them back as an understanding was clearly reached by the Grand Moff and his wife. Thalassa turned towards her, beckoning her closer. Melia approached, doing her best to keep her head held high as she had been instructed too many times to count. "It is time."

Those three words sealed her fate. Though she would not know it for some time yet, Melia would often look upon the moment as the starting point of what some might call an eventful life. Placing her hand into the crook of Wilhuff Tarkin's arm, she did her best to match her pace to his, pushing herself to speed up her normal gait.

Thus commenced her entrance into the upper echelons of Coruscanti society and thankfully, among the first faces she came across was that of her hosts' son. Garoche Tarkin was standing in a circle of boon companions, no doubt. The man paused briefly to acknowledge his parents and her. Abbreviated introductions were exchanged and to her great relief she did not have even a moment to get a word in edgewise. Beyond a somewhat strained smile she had little contribution to bring to the moment. Their round continued about the grand hall and before long Melia had a collection of names and an assortment of faces to puzzle over.

"And that there is the Emperor," her aunt whispered gently nodding towards a seated figure. Melia, who had until that point done her best only to stare in front of her least she was overwhelmed, wondered how she might have missed the clearly striking figure. Not in any way made remarkable by handsomeness or even any other pleasantly distinguishing feature, the Emperor was an old, menacing-looking fellow in spite of his obvious frailty. "The Jedi have served him ill indeed." The caul drawn over his head did not help matters any either.

"Do I have to meet him?" The words came out as a furious whisper. Melia's fingers twisted into the long folds of her skirts. The Emperor's attention was not upon them, thankfully, this her scrutiny went unnoticed.

"Indeed not," her aunt scoffed. "If he approached us we shall undoubtedly make mention of you, but otherwise be certain to stay out of his way." The older woman touched her cheek. "Your manners are yet unpolished," she said, not unkindly.

In spite of the twinge of annoyance she felt at being this described, Melia was likewise filled with relief that she would not be brought before the Emperor. "Oh look, Senator Organa approaches." Snapped out of her own reverie, Melia did her best to push the remnants of worry away. "But I do not see his wife."

The man, who could not have missed them as they stood directly in his path, paused, giving a perfunctory bow. If her aunt was reserved in her return of the pleasantries, Melia did not know, so concentrated was she on her own. "A pleasant evening, is it not, ladies?"

"Viceroy." Her aunt acknowledged his comment with a mere smile. "I do not see the Queen. Was she unable to make the journey?" A noncommittal reply was given to the question and Thalassa was forced to concede gracefully. "A pity that she should miss the celebration."

"My wife regrets the absence, but it is necessary. And who would you be?" he asked of Melia, gazing intently at her face. There was something about the man, something warm and inviting. "I have not had the pleasure of an introduction, I believe."

"She is family, Viceroy. Melia Motti." That did not deter the Viceroy.

Melia graced the new acquaintance with a smile and promptly nodded when she was invited to join him on the dance floor as the band struck up a tune which had been popular in her own mother's childhood. She had but a moment to observe her aunt's disapproval. Nevertheless, she could not bring herself to regret her choice. And the Viceroy returned her to her kin's side soon enough.

"The man is married," her aunt told her sharply. "Do not dally with his kind, there is little to be won in that quarter." She'd not been looking to win anything. It was simply that there had been something quite like kindness in the man's face and she'd been compelled to enjoy her moment in the sun, as it were.

Tension swelled. A hush fell over the hall. A figure, dark and arresting, strode within. Her aunt blinked, focusing her attention on the newly arrived man. By reputation he was well-known. In fact, in the short space since Palpatine had dissolved the Republic and assumed the throne, his right hand man had made quite the name for himself. Even someone as lacking in knowledge as Melia had heard of Lord Vader. His presence was unmistakable, not only because of his distinctive garb, but for the very reaction he inspired in others. And he did make quite the striking appearance, casting a large shadow over all else.

Lord Vader, unlike the other guests, seemed to have no intention to mingle. He strode past senators and serving men alike, ignoring both grand dames and royalty. It would be unfair to say Melia was not intrigued for all of a moment. Had the man no intention of speaking to anyone? Had he no desire to forge connections of his own? Let alone questions regarding his identity. Darth Vader had appeared out of nowhere, sweeping past other heroes of their age, rising in rank with surprising swiftness. And for all that, so little was known of the man.

None of these questions would be answered. Melia recognised as much in the first moments of lucidity after witnessing the giant's entrance as her ears picked up the orchestra's lively jingle. She exhaled upon the realisation and was gratified to see Garoche approaching, at his side another man whom she did not recognise.

"Mother," the Moff's son addressed her keeper for the night, "allow me to introduce Shale to my cousin." About as tall as Garoche, the man staring down at her with dark eyes seemed a pleasant enough sort if one looked past the severe mien. And one necessarily had to with military men. They were the lot of them abundantly blessed with dourness. She suspected the regimented lives they led must have some say. "Melia, Captain Shale Lumos. We attended the Academy together. Shale, my friend, this is Melia Motti of whom I've told you."

Blushing to know herself a subject of previous conversation, Melia glanced downwards. She could not attend the top of her shoes too closely, however, as Captain Shale called her to attention with his speech. "Told me too little." He had an unexpectedly smooth voice. "I should have suspected him when he offered barely a hint." Turning to his friend, he grinned widely. "I'll get you back for this, Tarkin. But in the meantime, Lady Tarkin," he spoke to her aunt, "may I have the pleasure of a dance with your Melia?"

"If Melia is amenable." And that, Melia knew, meant that she had to be or else she would hear words upon their return home. While putting herself forward into the grasp of the Captain was not something she could say gave her no reason for uneasiness, for unlike the nearly fatherly regard of Viceroy Organa, this man looked at her with some as though some understanding stood between them. Or rather between himself and Thalassa's son. The determination in his eyes was enough to put her on edge.

Nevertheless, he would have her on the dance floor. Thus she went, her answer a single spoken word, tempered by a tentative smile. Some men, unlike Garoche who could be charming when he so desired, would never inspire comfort in those around them. They were a breed too odd for her to understand. Doing as she always did when uncomfortable, she allowed herself to drift, moving to the beat of the music in her partner's arms.

"Why do I sense that I am being ignored?" She faltered, missing a step at the sound of his voice in her ear. Captain Shale steadied her.

"I," she began, absent a battle plan. The words, never easy for her to find, had somehow managed to secure even better hiding spots. Her mind drew up a blank, leaving her stuttering a single syllable before she caught on and put an end to it. Melia cleared her throat. "My apologies."

"I make you uneasy." She jerked in his hold. A protest, feeble as it was falling from her lips, did not dissuade him. "Please; I would have to be blind not to notice." He smiled down wolfishly into her face. "But truly, I am not such a frightening fellow."

Choking on involuntary laughter, she brought a hand to cover her mouth. "It is not you, Captain." Melia did her best to hold his gaze. "I fear the fault lies with me, unaccustomed as I am to current company."

Thankfully, the man did not mock her for the admission. Something in the harshness of his mien gave way to an almost understanding expression. "I am no danger to you. Try to keep that in mind." She nodded, allowing him to give her a twirl, before they resumed a more sedate movement from side to side. "You truly need to grow used to the company if you mean to stay at Lady Thalassa's side."

"I suppose I must," Melia allowed. She caught movement from the corner of her eye. That would not have been unusual. The dancers were slowly drawing to a halt as the melody drifted into quietness. Rather what had held her was the fact that the Grand Moff stood beside his seated wife at one of the tables, the Emperor in quiet conversation with them.

"Don't look," her own partner hissed. "The Emperor's hound is making his way there as well. By that she supposed he meant Lord Vader. "I could take you out on the terrace."

"No. Perhaps the Emperor will have left before we have arrived at my aunt's side." No such luck. But the Captain still accompanied her back, placing her hand in the crook of his arm solicitously asking whether she wished something to drink after the exercise.

"That would be much appreciated." It was no rescue, but it was better than nothing.

"I believe this is the most words you've spoken to me thus far." His jest failed to calm her nerves as Melia was engrossed in thoughts of her own.

She would not have to speak, after all, if she was busy swallowing whatever beverage the man would bring her. Unfortunately until she had even that flimsy of an excuse not to communicate, she had to take a deep breath and looked towards her aunt for clues on what she was to do.

"There she is now," Thalassa spoke, gaining her the attention of all three men, the Grand Moff, the Emperor and Lord Vader. Her aunt's husband beckoned her over in a gesture reminiscent of the orders he gave about the house when not abroad. "Captain." Melia did her duty by the long-established protocol and struggled to keep from showing her anxiety. Captain Shale excused himself.

Left with only her kin and the other two, Melia surreptitiously moved closer to her aunt, seeking her protection. The Emperor had a smile upon his face, a twist of lips, looking more like a grimace of pain than anything else. His hound, as the Captain had called him, faced her as well. But with his helmet on it was impossible to tell whether he watched her or was simply looking ahead. This close she could hear harsh breathing, to her surprise. Such a sound could only mean that the hulking creature before her was a man and not a machine as some malicious rumours had suggested. Had he been harmed by the Jedi as well?

"A lovely young woman." The Emperor's voice cracked, as though too brittle to endure the weight of even a scant amount of words. "Tell me, my dear, what do you think of our little entertainment tonight?" He motioned towards the other occupants of the hall.

While her brain scrambled for a response, Melia felt her cheeks heat. "A most wonderful event," she managed after a few moments, knowing her floundering had likely displeased her aunt. But the Emperor did not seem to take issue the answer. In fact, his eyes glinted with something like satisfaction.

"Let us hope you have the chance to witness many similar events then." That seemed to be the extent of the attention he was willing to afford her before addressing his Grand Moff and the man's wife, leaving Melia to consider the possibility of engaging the silent giant into conversation.

She bit into her lower lip as dark lenses seemed to move with every small jolt she experienced. He had to be aware of her discomfort. Melia sucked in a shaky breath and glanced away just in time to see Captain Shale approaching with a couple of glasses in tow.

Her relief was a near palpable thing.


	2. Chapter 2

"Off world? Again?" Melia picked up the words as she entered the room. Late to rise, she was last to arrive at the breakfast table. Her aunt paused in the middle of her complaint to acknowledge Melia's entrance with a brief smile. "But you have just returned."

The Grand Moff has a nod for her, as he replied to his wife. "The Empire needs me, Thalassa." As to that, the Empire was indeed a demanding mistress, although one had to wonder at the frequent absences. Still, her aunt accepted the response with no further fuss and turned the conversation to the preparations she was making for their Galaxies Opera House attendance.

Garoche patted the empty seat at his right. "Excited about the opera?" he questioned softly, a glimmer of something in his eyes.

"The Clandestine Marriage is an entertaining piece. I have no complaints." Besides, she could see something of herself in one particular character. Melia reached out for the cup of tea set before her while her plate was laden with steamed phraig and bits of fruit.

"Women and their romances." Men and their obtuseness, Melia replied silently, the unkind thought causing her attention to fixate upon her food as opposed to Garoche who was speaking once more. "You made quite an impression on someone last night and he's been hoping to catch a few more glimpses of you."

She thought of Captain Shale with his sharp smile. "Have I?" Perhaps she had misjudged the man. As she listened to her relative make further attempt to engage her curiosity, she could not help but be sorry for having thought the Captain a dour fellow. It seemed he was as affable as his friend, albeit in a subtler fashion. "And you say women are too fond of romances. Your poor friend would run for the hills if he knew what you are planning for him."

Their exchange attracted the matriarch's attention. "Do not be foolish, my son. Captain Shale is a fine fellow, Melia, but I feel you should aim higher." There were grander titles, that much was true, and she hadn't any strong opinion regarding the Captain.

"What if she has fallen in love with him?" Garoche asked teasingly, nudging Melia leg under the table. She in turn elected to ignore his question in favour of a spoonful of steamed phraig.

"Sentimental drivel," the Grand Moff cut in. "Your friend is welcome to try his luck once he has risen in the world. Until that point, you had best advise him to keep a firm leash on anything he may be feeling." She much doubted the poor Captain had intended to make her any serious offer, but still the dismissal she heard was rather harsh. Surely in time any man might advance in rank with enough care and diligence.

"Your father is correct." Thalassa took hold of her own cup and brought it to her lips, blowing gently into the hot liquid. "And Melia is far too bright to fall for the first man to show her some attention."

"If there is no danger that attention will sway her, I should take her with me to see the Academy's graduates." Melia swallowed her food, her thoughts turning to a sea of uniforms. "Headmaster Gentis promised it would be a worthy display of the Empire's future finest."

Melia paused mid-motion, her gaze involuntarily dragged to Garoche. Something about those last words smacked of contempt. To be sure, the graduates had to be somewhat green and yet untested, but surely they were not to be spoken of as roaches. Someday soon, these boys would be known throughout the Galactic Empire, even if they were nobodies for the time being. "I will be very glad to accompany you, if aunt may spare me."

Her aunt was only too pleased that her protégé wished to interact with others for once. "You may have her, son, as long as you return her in time to prepare for our outing." They agreed terms between them as Melia finished her meal.

The Grand Moff excused himself before any of them were done, citing urgent business as his reason to be off. Aunt Thalassa momentarily followed her husband in order to see him to his shuttle, leaving her with Garoche who was enjoying some green pudding. For a brief moment she considered giving him her thoughts, but decided against it just as swiftly. He was many things, this man seated next to her, but she doubted consideration for other's feelings was any sort of priority to him.

"Did you not like my friend then?" The question took her by surprise. Garoche rested his chin in his palm, eyeing her with undisguised interest. "The way you clung to him last night had me convinced there was something there."

"There was," Melia admitted. There was no point in lying about such a small matter. "The Emperor and his companion terrified me." The image of a twisted smile flashed in her mind's eye. A shudder wracked her form. "Captain Shale proved a good shield. And an engrossed monologuist."

"At some point he will expect some contribution to what are undoubtedly scintillating conversations from you as well," Caroche warned. He pushed away the remnants of his pudding and stood. "For now though, I have some preparations to attend to. It shouldn't take long and we leave as soon as I am done."

"Send a droid for me," she answered, standing as well.

They left the room together, thankfully before Thalasssa returned. Garoche abandoned her for his own pursuits and Melia saw to readying herself in timely fashion. Unlike the gala, a graduation ceremony called for different deportment. And she had just the outfit in mind. In truth, the graduates had gone through less rigorous training a period, as the Empire had need of loyal men, or so the Grand Moff had explained when presenting to them his misgivings about the training programs. Albeit the doubts had been tempered by the knowledge that it was necessary.

Garoche's droid came soon enough, with the message that she was to make haste unless she wished to be left behind. Melia took a breath, resigning herself to the fact that her kin would not give up his jests as long as it pleased him. But at least he waited patiently for her to make her way to the shuttle, even helping her into her seat.

"I heard it said the Emperor is attending as well," Garoche commented after they'd both settled in. "Those poor boys, out of the frying pan and into the fire." He chuckled. "Sometimes I don't quite know what to think about it all." Melia watched him with rapt attention. Half-truths, no matter how frustrating, were still a type of information in and of themselves.

He leaned towards her slightly. "There is so much conflict, so much death. I've lost many friends to needless clashes between men who were simply concerned with a show of power. I truly wonder if more of the same will make any difference." Turning her gaze towards her lap, Melia studied the pattern of her garment. "The Jedi betrayed us. The Republic failed to protect those who most needed protection. And now our fate is in the hands of a frail, old man." There was something beneath the surface, something which put her in the mind of future trouble.

The less she knew about the matter, the better. "You know I don't have a head for politics. If the Republic failed in its duties perhaps it is better for power to change hands. As for wars, there is always some battle to be had, isn't there?"

A soft unintelligible sound came from Garoche. Melia glanced at him for just a moment, long enough to see the look upon his face. Whatever he was about to say, however, was pushed aside in favour of an almost indulgent smile, with just the hint of an edge. Since she could not pluck the thoughts from his head, she decided she was content with the response and pressed herself back into the seat, carefully arranging her hands in her lap so as to better worry a bit of material between them.

To his credit, Garoche occupied himself with news and such, leaving her to it. Melia thought his words over. It was true that the transition from republic to empire had not been precisely smooth. Plenty of worlds had not taken Palpatine's ascension kindly and even those planets which did not protest his reign seemed resigned rather than glad the further away one was from Coruscant. The way she saw it, conflict was inevitable until either the Emperor proved the legitimacy of his rule by improving the lives of the populous or power was wrested away from him. As to what such outcomes would entail she was uncertain, but while the first seemed implausible to her, the second was the riskier and thus the one she shunned to a greater degree than she did the other.

Something heavy settled inside her chest at the thought of the less philosophical side of the conflict. It was after all so very easy for her to distance herself from the overwhelming reality of worlds torn to shred simply because they would not bow one way or the other. Once more she shied away from considering the matters too deeply. There were greater minds than hers engaged in determining the future of the galaxy. Distancing herself as much as she could from the unease her thoughts produced, Melia was glad when at long last the shuttle drew to a halt.

Before long her and her kin were walking towards the small dais which had been raised for the occasion. Several personages had already arrived, men of distinguished rank, some of whom Melia had made the acquaintance of the night before. Others were yet unknown to her, though not to Garoche by the way he saluted.

"The Grand Moff's son honours us with his presence." One of the taller fellows spoke, his firm features tightening as though in displeasure. A man past his prime, though not yet aged enough to be considered old, he wore his regimentals with dignity. While not especially handsome, the uniform lent him an air of elegance not easily matched. Slicked-back red hair and cold blue eyes were among his distinguishing features. "I see you've brought a guest."

"Headmaster, that look upon your face you reminds me of the many reprimands I've suffered for my exploits." Melia relaxed at the jovial tone coming out of Garoche's mouth. Perhaps it was simply the Headmaster's way to speak as he did. "But I do fear you'll put my guest on edge. Melia Motti," he introduced her, placing one hand at the small of her back and prompting her forth when she lagged behind. "Melia, Headmaster Gentis. A man of great value for the Empire." She shook hands with the Headmaster, the small smile on her lips more easily given than she would have thought were possible. They exchanged the customary pleasantries before she and Garoche were shown to a couple of seats.

The young man leading them, presumably a graduate, promised their view would not be in any way impeded, which she could not object to. "In such moments, we must thank the stars for our fortuitous family connections," Garoche quipped, patting her arm gently once he'd seated himself comfortably.

"There sure are a lot of graduates," she commented, hoping to divert him from further tart observations. "Was your year quite as big as this?"

"Not at all. This is a special occasion, Melia. You won't see its like again." The trumpets started their song, announcing the arrival of the Emperor and his entourage. Banners were flying, the crowds were cheering and the graduates formed neat rows, moving almost as one body to the commands of their superiors.

Melia took it in not without a sense of wonder. Military parades had played very little part in her upbringing. To see so many people move as one was at once awe-inspiring and frightening. Unable to help herself, she smiled, bringing her hands together in a silent clap as the student body executed a flawless turn.

The Headmaster, meantime, had welcomed the Emperor and Lord Vader. If ever it was possible to ignore either of the two, Melia would have been willing to bet such an occasion would serve. Except that she could not, even with the display before her. One glimpse of the cloaked figure and the caped giant at his side left her paralysed in her seat.

Straightening herself when she felt the scrutiny of another upon her, she did her best to assume a calm demeanour. "Remarkable, aren't they?" She nodded to Garoche's question. "A pity all this is simply for show."

She debated with herself whether she ought to answer him. At the risk of incurring his ire, she made a soft reply, "It is something still. Those bright enough will have learned a lesson." Surreptitiously, she raised her gaze from the mass of graduates to the platform. The Headmaster was calling the valedictorian forward.

From the ranks a lone figure emerged. At a glance he seemed rather small, albeit he was surely much taller up close. What was distinctive about him though was not the height, nor even the shock of bright red hair, but the profound scarring he bore. One side of his face was that of a handsome youth, the other a grotesque carving of dried, dead flesh. An involuntary grasp left Melia's mouth. The poor boy was missing an arm as well.

Everything from the conviction to the precisely worded speech given by Laurita Tohm moved her. She joined her appreciation with the thunderous applause of the young man's brethren. "See, Garoche? There are men of integrity and vision out there; men who are willing to sacrifice for what they believe in." Turning her teary smile upon him, she continued, "And no amount of quipping will lessen the power of such conviction."

"Women and their tears," came the warm response. She felt a feather-light touch upon her face, realising only too late that her tears were being brushed away. "Do not cry like this at the opera. Shale is no good around weeping women."

"Your friend is safe from my tears," she promised, pulling back. He left the square linen he'd been using to blot the tears away into her hands. Melia continued dabbing her cheeks until she was certain she must be presentable. "I did not mean to become a watering pot. It's just that–"

"Passion inspired passion in others." Garoche stroked the top of her head, acting the older brother. "Now, let us stand and find Shale and his brother."

"The Captain is here?" He might have said something. Melia pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and did her best not to glower at her smug looking companion. "I wish you wouldn't do such things." He responded with a faux innocent look. "Some warning would have been nice."

"What business would I have had attending this graduation ceremony otherwise? That should have been warning enough." Her disagreement was ignored and before long the both of them were swallowed by the overlarge crowd.

Thankfully, Captain Shale knew to position himself in such a way that he would be easily found. By Garoche at least. Melia gave the man a genuine smile as soon as she caught his eye. Her hand rose in a wave before she turned to study the man she assumed was his brother. There was some vague resemblance between brothers, but if she hadn't known they were related she would have likely ignored it.

"Shale," Garoche greeted, holding his hand out. "And our graduate. Lieutenant Flin Lumos, my heartfelt congratulations." The lieutenant had a proud smile upon his face as he shook hands with Garoche. "This is Melia. I'm sure your brother has spoken of her."

"The famous Melia." With one smooth motion, he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. Melia gave a low chuckle at the exaggerated behaviour.

"I should have liked to say likewise to you, Lieutenant, but I'm afraid I was quite ignorant of your existence until this day." Breaking away from Garoche she proceeded to press a perfunctory kiss upon the young Lumos' face. "My sincere congratulations as well."

Someone bumped into her from behind just as she was drawing away. Melia, whose balance was ever a thing of careful concentration, had only a squeak of sorts for the occasion before she stumbled slightly. A good thing Garoche was quick both on his feet and with his hands.

"Caul Gentis, you're supposed to speak to girls you like, not ram into them." The youth she assumed to be the aforementioned Caul had joined his efforts to Garoche's and apologised profusely for his lack of attention, making entirely too much of the matter.

"Truly, Lieutenant Gentis, there is no need to go so far," Melia assured him after she had rightened herself. He grinned sheepishly. Only then did it occur to her that he shared a name with the Headmaster. Since it would be much too forward to press for such information, she resolved to ask Garoche when the change presented itself.

Flin, however, invited his friend right along for introductions and congratulatory handshakes. "Flin and I could show you a thing or two, Captain," he said, addressing his brother. "Who knows, perhaps even we'll even impress the present company." A wink marked the words for a jest. In spite of that Melia could not help the warmth suffusing her cheeks. But then she had promised there would be no swaying her.

"Are you coming to the gala?"

"I'm afraid Melia will have to excuse herself, but Garoche and I will be there."

How did the Captain know of her plans? When had Garoche managed to share that many details about her schedule? Nevertheless, Melia held back her curiosity. As the son of the house, he had access to several of the planners in which outings were noted. More importantly, his words implied that many of the newly minted officials would not be in attendance at the opera house. She bit into her lip to keep from smiling. A night at the opera without a multitude of eyes watching their box instead of the stage. Truly she ought to thank whoever set the ceremony date on such a day.

"Look, there's Tohm!" Flint's arm rose in an overexcited wave, the exaggerated motions attracting their air share of attention. "Over here, Tohm." The valedictorian joined the small group with visible unease. In spite of the uniform and the ramrod posture, an almost vulnerable quality enveloped the young man.

"Lieutenant." Another round of introductions ensured, with the newly graduated speaking excitedly one over the other. Predictably, Laurita Tohm held back, resisting most attempts to engage him in conversation. He listened, for all that, with great attention.

Melia decided he must be one of those men interested in cultivating the proper friendships in order to ease his way up the ladder. And she did not think she could blame him. Obvious imperfections often led to assumptions of incompetence. Whatever the truth, she felt she'd found a sort of kindred spirit in him, even if his reluctance stemmed from a source different to hers. Unlike his comrades, she did not push for even a word, content instead to take in the chatter of the others, giving as limited an answer as she could to any and all questions addressed to her. Which were not many to begin with, as they spoke of common acquaintances from the military world, and even with the names she recognised, she'd not interacted much with any of them.

All in all, it was a pleasure to attend the ceremony and she was not sorry Garoche had suggested they attend together, though she could not rightly figure out why he took such an interest and with her by his side of all people. While their interactions had always been amiable, there had never been enough common interest between them to solidify a friendship.

Their arrival to Tarkin home was marked by her earlier concern. Aunt Thalassa had left them a message that she'd gone out, which made her all the more confident in insisting upon the conversation. "Do you hope something will happen between myself and the Captain?"

"Would it brother you if I admitted to such a plan?" She shrugged. "Shale is a good friend. And you are a worthy young woman. Even better, you are family." She wasn't. Not to the degree he was suggesting it, in any event. But it did seem she would benefit from his endorsement. "My parents mean well, but sometimes, in the manner of all older generations they fail to understand crucial aspects of the situation."

"Now you speak in tongues." He was not referring to the comments made upon the matter of love. While she believed Garoche did not outright reject the notion, he saw it similarly enough to his sire. But more to the point, any natural inclination took a backseat to more pressing matters such as strategic advantage and monetary gain. If the Lumos family was not precisely among the numbers of the obscenely wealthy then he was surely seeing some benefit she was blind to.

And truly she shouldn't feel the twinge of pain which registered deep in her chest. Aunt Thalassa wished to use her in a similar scheme. And she herself was a willing enough participant. Melia swallowed the initial rejection. If indeed he had some plans regarding Captain Shale and thought to use her she would learn soon enough what they were.

"Not at all," Garoche contradicted. "I am perfectly plain. In any event, you have an evening to ready yourself for, if I well understood it."

"You have an adequate understanding. But I still have plenty of time." She moved away from him and sat down. "Do you think the Captain would be open to your little scheme here?" Many a marriage had begun with unwillingness between the parties and turned out fine. Many a union begun in the throes of passion had burned through the stock of affection until nothing was left.

"He'll be more than willing if you deign to send some small encouragement his way. No matter what you think of us men, we don't generally pursue the completely unwilling." He seated himself next to her, kicking his feet up in a way he would not have dared where either of his parents present.

"Are you saying I appear unapproachable?" His arm wrapped about her shoulder in an encouraging gesture. Melia pursed her lips, gazing into his face expectantly. "Well, go on then. Answer me."

"You've put me on the spot." Garoche chuckled, ruffling her hair. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't. If you must know, I sometimes suspect you use your shyness as a shield." Uncertainty gave him an opening for despite her shyness, her face remained an open book for those willing to do the reading. "What happened with your parents, that's not how most marriages are. You know that, don't you?"

"Of course I do." She crossed her arms over her chest. "This has nothing to do with my parents."

"On the contrary, it has everything to do with them. I know more than you think I do." Having never considered just how much it was that Garoche did know of the affair, Melia could not find it in herself to either agree or disagree. "Their marriage didn't fail because the family disapproved. And yours won't be a success just because the family approves."

"It will certainly help if they do." She looked to him for some argument to the contrary. "My father was a fool for going against all advice given to him. And while I wish I could say he should have known better, he apparently didn't."

"You are not your father and you are certainly not your mother." That did not mean the danger was nonexistent. Melia leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder, seeking comfort on the warmth he provided so freely. His words worked to warm her as well. "There is nothing to fear."

"That's where you're wrong," she voiced after a moment. "I cannot be like either of those two. If I failed like they did, it would kill me. If I inflict what I lived through on an innocent, I don't think I could forgive myself."

"It certainly sounds as though your mind is made up. So what is there to fear?"


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who added the story to favorite and followed. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well.  
_

 _To Guest: There will be some action, of course, This is Star Wars, after all. But it won't be the main focus._

* * *

She was very much aware she dreamt. Melia brought one hand up to shield her from the vivid light playing along the edges of her vision. How she knew it was all a dream she could not say, but she did. The sound of squawks piercing the air couples with the salty, soothing scent of the sea nearby gave her hope it was to be a pleasant dream. She glanced downwards, to the soft sandy beach under her feet. And with sudden realisation came the knowledge of where her dreams had taken her. The light dimmed and her hand fell away.

She was on Pespal, the small moon of Viiton-Tal, colonised by mostly human settlers. Squatting, she reached out for the strangely coloured sand. A light blue to the green hue of the sea and the even deeper colour of the sky. The trouble with Pespal was that it lived in a never-ending twilight due to its position relative to the planet it orbited. Still and all, it offered some beautiful sights. She eyed the warm colours melting together on the horizon. Gold accents twined with patches of tangerine lined in crimson. Stray scarps of purple and blue cropped up every now and again.

A small sigh flittered past her lips as the sand escaped through her fingers. A vague memory of joined by the sound of laughter followed the feeling of loss settling in her chest. Pespal had been the last place she'd visited together with her parents. If she turned around, would they be there? They had to be. She debated the matter for a few moments longer. In spite of the pleasant times they'd spent together she did not want them clouding her new existence. Their shadow loomed overlarge as was. Her dreams, at least, ought to give her reprieve. And yet she had to know. Her feet, of their own accord, brought her around.

Her hunch proved correct. Time had eroded details from the face and person of her parents. What stood before her was a couple of conflicting or vague memories sewn together into an ill-depicted whole. She stared at two nevertheless, taking in the sight. The twinge of pain in her chest took a moment to remind her that those who were gone could still cause pain. And yet Melia found that her feet were moving.

Gianni Motti had one arm slung about his wife's waist, speaking quietly as his eyes held hers. It looked n intimate picture, as though two lovers had come together and shared themselves with one another to the exclusion of all else. But Melia had rarely seen her mother smile. And the frown on the memory's face seemed only too fitting a depiction of the woman. Rheia, her name had been. An old name, like hers. For some odd reason she'd not followed the more conventional path of being named in accordance with her father's wishes as far as first names went. That much she knew from stories someone or another had whispered to her. The frowning Rheia looked on the verge of speaking, her eyes glinting with malice. Melia shuddered, involuntarily taking a step back.

Her actions had no manner of impact. They never had. When not intending to make use of their child in the tug of war game between them , they were content to ignore her existence, leaving her in the care of a droid or if she was particularly lucky, it would be a relative. It was worse when they did give her a scrap of attention though. She would not complain if they decided to forget about her altogether.

Except that her mother found that precise moment to turn her gaze upon her. Melia froze in her retreat, staring back fearfully. The older woman opened her mouth and Melia braced herself for impact.

It never came.

She came to with a small sound of distress. It took a moment or two to shake the hold of sleep off. The dream sank its claws into her and pressed the painful spots for a short while longer as though delighting in her suffering. Until she had had enough; Melia shook her head, doing her best to dislodge the image of her parents from her brain. It was the talking she had done, she decided, that had attracted the unsettling dream encounter. She had to concentrate of something else.

Stretching out proved a helpful activity. It took her mind off of anything other than the pleasant feeling registering in her muscles as she held her arms out. Her fingers flexed with great care, the movements slow and deliberate. But before long she realised she would either have to continue the exercise out of bed or she'd best settle back against her pillow and attempt a few more hours of restful slumber.

Indecisively, she glanced at the time display. It was still early. The earliest of early birds were likely abed. And yet the thought of more sleep, of opening herself to yet another dream like the one she had just escaped had her on her feet and reaching for her robe. Her feet found their way into a pair of comfortable slippers.

At such an hour the rest of the household slept, which meant all areas were free for her use. Thus she found her way into the library. While most of the family's treasured volumes resided still in the Tarkin compound, off-world. But there was a fair selection to choose from on Coruscant as well. Less durable than a flimsi and even less common, books were by and large regarded as collection pieces. Those who had some were to be admired, for it took care to preserve such objects. Aunt Thalassa had allowed her to pick up whichever of the volumes struck her fancy as long as she placed them back once done. She had thus far read half of them between all their outings and fully intended to open yet another one. Strange tales resided between those pages.

Busying herself with the volume following the last one she's read, Melia passed a few hours in relative silence and a concentrated effort to follow a hero on some grand adventure. At long last, however, she decided a short break was in order. Leaving the book on the comfortable armchair she'd been seated upon, Melia walked about the room from one end to the other, scrutinising the plants lining the southern wall. The glass allowing light inside was somewhat darkened due to the brightness outside. It was because of a small glint that Melia approached the pots to begin with, unwittingly bringing herself nearer to an adventure than she had any intention of being.

Kneeling by the tallest plant, she brought her face closer to a small object with one tip poking through the layer of dirt in which the bush took root. She reached for it, unable to help her own curiosity. It was likely a piece of some container which had broken. Her fingers wrapped around the peak and tugged, surprised when the weight surpassed her expectations. It was also more difficult to free it from the weight pressing down upon it, though after sustained attempts she managed to identify what it was that she had in her possession.

A datacard of all things. A chill ran down her spine, for she recognised that such objects did not belong in a pot, flimsily buried beneath a layer of dirt. Which in turn gave her some cause to suspect it contained a secret, or more. She stood. Her portable would allow her to discover what it contained. But a datacard? Who would hide it and so poorly?

With great care, she abandoned the library for her own room and pulled out her portable computer and opened it, inserting the datacard in its slot. What that won her was a few encrypted files she would not be able to view unless she managed to get past the many obstructions pit in her path. A sigh left her lips. The only thing she could do was copy them and have the portable working on decrypting the content while she returned the datacard to its initial position, doing her best to make it seem as though it had not been disturbed. She then proceeded to clean her hands with care and circumspection, lest anyone find out what she had done.

The book, which she would have to return to at another date, was placed back in its spot in the shelf and she returned to her own room, locking the door behind her. The portable was hard at work, as far as she could tell, attempting a myriad of combinations. Melia climbed into the bed, holding the computer in her lap. She noticed that one of the smaller files had become available for viewing.

It was her last chance, the last moment in which she could turn around, delete all the files and pretend she had seen nothing out of ordinary. But that she could not do. Melia opened the file and began reading, confusion seeping into her thoughts the farther in she went.

The words seemed to be written in Galactic Basic and at first glance anyone would understand what each one meant individually, but put together, she saw not even a lick of meaning to be had. It had to be a code of some sort then and she only had to crack it. Come to think of it, she had seen quite a bit on the subject on the HoloNet and suspected she might even manage to solve some of the mysteries on her own if she persisted enough.

The trouble was, she would need some reason to spend a lot more time in her room if she was to break any codes at all. Which meant an excuse would have to be found. And while she was determined that it would, at the moment, Melia could find nothing credible. A soft sigh left her lips.

Another file caught her attention, this one somewhat larger than the previous. She opened it, pondering the meaning of its words. It seemed to be the chapter of some work of fiction, containing dialogue and narration alike. At least this one made sense. She read through the first few pages, but once more found that in spite of the smaller gains she remained blind to the big picture. Securing the pages of a novel was quite beyond the lengths anyone would go to for such a work. It had to be another type of code. One which she might not break quite so easily. If it was based upon knowledge possessed only by those supposed to see it, she might as well give up while she was ahead.

Deciding against probing any further for the time being, Melia went through her morning ritual with some apprehension at the thought of facing her hosts at the breakfast table. A sense of shame swamped her the more she thought mattes over. What business of hers was it to rifle through obviously private information. Her aunt would not like it one bit and if her suspicions proved correct, The Grand Moff might even make her pay for her actions. What did it matter what sort of information was hidden on those paged. She would delete all those files, she decided, after having breakfast.

Her intentions thus shaped, she met Aunt Thalassa and the woman's son with a soft greeting. Her eyes picked up the change in attire for the man and hesitated to put any questions to him. Thankfully, Garoche was more than willing to let them know his stay had been cut short. "Indeed, I am to travel to the Outer Rim on a mission."

"And we knew nothing of it all," his mother complained, visibly deflating at the notion of her son leaving her.

"Such are the demands of the Empire, mother." He took a bite of his toast and chewed it thoughtfully. "Loathe as I am to abandon you both, we need to apprehend the enemies of our new order."

"If only these ungrateful fiends could find it in their hearts to simply accept that matters will no longer follow a path they desire," her aunt sighed. Melia kept her peace upon the matter. The Empire was adamant about eliminating its opponents, a move which struck her as somewhat excessive in its methods, but an understandable choice as far as politics went. She took a sip of her tea. "And when do you expect to return?"

"Not in time for the next visit to the opera house, I assure you, mother." He'd finished his toast. "There is another matter. It seems Melia is summoned to join me at headquarters." The aforementioned Melia nearly jumped out of her seat.

"An order? From the Emperor?" She did not like to think about the man. In fact, she would gladly forget ever having made his, ever so brief, acquaintance.

"He does sign all of them." She was not in the mood for his jests. "But I daresay this has more to do with my esteemed father and some of his plans. Therefore, make yourself presentable and let us leave."

Seeing no alternative, Melia made haste in her preparations and before long she and Garoche were on their way, with one of them being visibly more relaxed than the other. If only she had the capacity to feign indifference. But she didn't. And they arrived at headquarters with amazing speed, which left her floundering in her companion's wake, hoping against hope that some mistake had been made and she would find out that she wasn't needed after all.

Garoche, ever gallant when eyes followed him, offered his arm for support. "You don't need to be so stiff. I promise you it won't be half as unpleasant as you are making it in your own mind." In spite of his words, Melia found she could not relax anywhere near enough to navigate the hallways of the headquarters with confidence. What she could do, however, was keep pace with her companion and not cause him trouble.

And it was indeed her aunt's husband waiting on their arrival as Garoche had promised. Or rather he was using the holotransceiver to make contact. Some of the nuance from his gaunt features had been attenuated by the lack of colouring. It put her at ease some, this distance established between the two of them. There were no distinguishable features around him which might make his location easier to discern either. Likely as not he was in some military facility, which meant the man had work to do.

Their arrival was announced by a middle-aged man whose florid face put her in the mind of a well-fed beast, placid, but still capable of doing damage if the scars she saw were any indication of the man's capacity to survive. She clasped her hands in front of her and waited to see what task she was being entrusted with.

"Have a seat," the Grand Moff instructed her while his son was being dismissed, presumably to follow his own duties. "You have been under my wife's tutelage for enough time now that I am confident in giving you this opportunity to prove your use." She swallowed nervously as the words registered. Nevertheless, she nodded obediently.

"There had been unrest in the galaxy since the betrayal of the Jedi. In spite of our efforts there are still those who cannot conceive of such actions as have been done by knights sworn to protect us and aid the fugitives still." Melia waited patiently for him to reach his point. Which the Grand Moff thankfully did with haste. "The Emperor and myself have decided that we must send emissaries to these troublesome planets that are slow in compliance."

"And where is it that I am to go?" she questioned after a moment's space of silence. That might be time enough for her to decipher the files she's found and no one would suspect her of anything nefarious provided she played her part.

"Naboo." The homeworld of the Emperor himself. Perhaps her haste was unseemly after all. Naboo was not some small planet of little importance. The risk was great. "The Queen is your junior by few years. Do you utmost best to convince her that it would be more advantageous for us to work together. Report back to us. That is the extent of your mission."

Nothing was ever that simple. Still, it was neatly enough packed that she found little room for protest. Even so, she played the one card she had. "I am honour to be considered for such an important mission, but my meagre knowledge makes me too poor a replacement for proper diplomats."

"Not at all. Your artlessness is bound to please the people of Naboo." There had to be something more to it. No one in their right mind would place such a burden on so untrained an individual, unless they intended for the whole of it to end in failure. Indeed, the Grand Moff had just finished saying Naboo was a thorn in the Empire's side.

"Then I gladly accept." There wasn't much of a choice. If she took the task of perhaps with enough effort the Queen would be convinced of the wisdom of working with the Emperor, if only for the time being.

"You leave within the week with an escort." Promising as that was, she sensed there was another matter, something which displeased her host. "On the Emperor's orders, you will be joining Lord Vader. I understand he too makes for Naboo."

Stopping short of a gasp, Melia swallowed the vague distress arising from such knowledge. Lord Vader need not populate her mind or her concerns. The Grand Moff said he had some task of his own. Ships were very spacious these days, so she doubted she would even see much of the man. Melia was allowed to leave with a gentle reminder to look out for her orders which were bound to arrive later in the day.

Pressed in the care of a Lieutenant, she found herself led to another building altogether, made up of offices as far as she could discern. Her guide brought her before a closed door, knocking twice before he was commanded to enter. She followed him within, somewhat surprised at the familiarity of the voice. Once inside she met the verdant gaze of a stern Captain whose acquaintance she had briefly made at the Emperor's gala.

"Miss Motti, welcome," Zoye Cargan greeted her, signalling that she should sit. Melia did precisely so after responding with the customary words. "My men and I have been assigned to guard you on Naboo, and I thought it might be wise for us to discuss some arrangements beforehand."

"How thoughtful," she said in hopes of fending off any awkward silences. "And what in particular is it that we should discuss?" To her mind it was a rather easy thing; they had to simply be somewhere near her.

"With the state of the galaxy as it is, even such missions as yours are bound to run into a spot of trouble. I was thinking we could have two of my people in your rooms at all time. They shall act in all other respects as your companions." The woman paused in order to select two files, both which she held out towards Melia. "They have been chosen with great care."

Thinking it would be impolite to give the papers a mere cursory glance, Melia spent a few minutes familiarising herself with the provided material. They sounded competent by what she was reading, but she still felt that a couple of them to guard her was excessive. One might do just as well. She aired that opinion out loud.

"Not at all. If one of them wee to suffer injury, you would be left with no close protection." A sigh left Melia's lips as she accepted the wisdom of the woman's words. "As long as negotiations carry out, you will have a few others of my men around you." The Captain proceeded to explain in detail what the small team being sent in with her was expected to accomplish, introducing each and every single one of the people to her. It was, all in all, enough information for her to feel that they had the matter well in hand and she need only approve it.

"While I maintain it seems to me an excessive amount of individuals are being inconvenienced on my account, I trust in your judgement Captain. We will proceed as you believe best." Declaring herself pleased with the outcome on the whole, she asked after the next step.

"I will send your two companions over this very day so you may take their measure. Adjustments are best made before we leave." That seemed a sensible approach; Melia gave it her approval. "You will hear from them sometime after lunch."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I can only hope I didn't screw this up beyond belief. Vader is...difficult to write._

 _Anyway, thanks everyone for the follows and faves and comments. Also, I hope you enjoy the chapter._

* * *

He had seen her before. He recalled the first occasion with some apprehension. She had been on the arm of Thalassa Tarkin, clutching the woman's limb as though it were a lifeline as the two of them passed between two lines of stormtroopers, the elder speaking in hushed tones. The splash of colour amid so much white and grey had been what caught his eye. And the fact the girl seemed quite out of sorts. He'd brushed her away, intent on seeing to his own tasks; the presence of the Grand Moff's wife offering additional assurance that he had no interest in that quarter. The Emperor might not have any qualms about relying on these men, but then politics was ever a complicated game.

Vader had no love for the Tarkins. The Grand Moff was a capable man, but he seemed the only one of the lot worth anything. Still, he regarded the young woman who had just boarded the Devastator with her entourage. She wore a standard imperial uniform and might have been confused for a Stormtrooper Officer were it not for the conspicuous absence of a rank badge. As always, she cut a neat figure, fitting in next to the crew serving on his ship. She looked about with interest, giving the impression of uncertainty as she stepped forth to greet the man who had broken out of his place in the line and offered words of welcome.

He had to wonder how much she knew of her role in his master's scheme. Her eyes rose from the man she conversed with, settling on his person. Her lips formed a lax oval as she apparently lost her place in the sentence. It was for just a moment. As though his presence had taken her by surprise. Just as quickly as she had taken notice of him, she looked away, redressing the conversation.

Descending from his elevated position, Vader made his way to the two speaking, noting that the females flanking the girl stiffened, attention snapping to him. A lacking guard, he decided but a moment later, pressing on. "And here is Lord Vader," his man interjected within the sentence he hadn't quite managed to finish. Bowing out of the way, he rejoined his comrades.

"Lord Vader, allow me to thank you for receiving us aboard your ship." Her bow was perfunctory, executed with more precision than he would have thought her capable of, given the earlier display. She then raised her head, tipping it slightly backwards so as to meet his eyes. "I have never seen anything quite like it." A brief smile touched her lips. It was out of place.

Intrigued nonetheless, both as to why she faced with a smile and the reason for which the Grand Moff had insisted she be sent as a representative, he gave a slow nod by manner of response. "The ship has had its course set. Join me so we may settle the details of this expedition." Not quite well-travelled, he decided upon further consideration. Vader did not know what to make of that. Had they sent a child to take on what ought to have been a serious mission?

That could not be. If the Emperor acquiesced to Tarkin's suggestion, there was a reason behind it. Without waiting on the girl's agreement, he turned on his heel and marched to the set of private rooms allotted for staff meetings of a private nature. He heard her behind him, her steps quick and sharp, her breathing coming in shorter bursts than before, as though she were making an effort to keep up with him. Still, no complaint came from her quarter and before long the two of them were ensconced in the privacy of the smallest of the chambers.

He sat down. She followed with the same hesitation he had seen before, the delayed response prodding once more at his own curiosity. A little mouse of a girl should not signify in the eyes of anyone, let alone men of power and resolve. "The Emperor wishes to speak to us," he announced, interested in seeing the two of them interact. He'd be able to learn enough, he suspected, by watching what it was his master said to the ingénue. For the moment, he could tell that she was made uneasy by such notions. Nonetheless, she remained rooted in her seat, murmuring superfluous assent. Determined to satisfy himself with answers, Vader made contact.

A projection of his master's face appeared before them. The Emperor's eyes roamed from one to the other, a knowing grin flashing across his face. The pieces had been set and would soon swing into motion. "I see our guest has arrived at her destination in good condition. Keep her safe, my apprentice, for she is key in our design." Only if his master planned to have her take the eyes of the Naboo queen with a youthful, innocent appearance. Not to mention that while such a ploy might well work on the foolish girl to whom the throne had been entrusted, it would certainly hold poorly as far as her advisers were concerned. He kept his peace, however, content to listen as his master laid out his objectives. "Naboo remains blind to the threat of the Jedi. You must impress upon them the necessity of caution, Junior Representative, when dealing with such wily opponents. Likewise they must be made aware of our desire to aid them, if only they will open themselves to the proffered help."

"Of course, Your Highness." He sensed the discomfort rolling off of her in even stronger waves than before as the Emperor continued in the same vein for a short while. He understood at long last what it was his master sought and was glad for the distance between them as doubt wormed its way into his mind. But then, he did not suppose it mattered how the objective was achieved. While his master concentrated his attention on Naboo, he would see to strengthening his own position.

"As for you, my apprentice, Naboo will no doubt offer some solace in its familiarity as you rid the realm of our enemy." Vader gritted his teeth at what he knew to be a purposeful jab. It surprised him, however, when the girl stiffened in her seat. It was but a moment later that he realised she had seen his hand curl into a fist. Her eyes darted guiltily away. There was no time to linger on that.

"My master." There was no true response he could give. Thus he listened. Mercifully, the Emperor had other matters to attend to as well and did not keep them overlong. By the end of it, Vader had learned enough that he was satisfied. The mystery of the Grad Moff protégé solved, he tucked all concern away into a small corner, allowing the girl to be off on her way. He had one less thing to worry about at least, and that, he supposed, demanded its own moment in the sun.

He might have well enjoyed it too were it not for the pain in his limbs, or what remained of them, spiking in intensity, s it always did when he confronted bits and pieces of a loss too recent to contemplate at length. Naboo, his thoughts turned upon a bitter path, thought to prove its mettle. The newly minted Queen thought she could stand against the Emperor. Not even a fraction of the leader Padmé had been, she futilely endangered her people. But then it was no concern of his what the Queen chose to do. In another life, Vader contemplated, he would have gladly offered Naboo the shield of his protection. If only Padmé had waited; if only she'd been willing to listen.

Ache and torment kept him company as he moved through the hallways towards the only safe haven remaining open to him. His meditation chamber received him with a gust of warmed air. He did not need to look to know what was happening, so used had he grown to the pod. Without a second thought he sat down, allowing the mask to be removed. The pressurised chamber offered as much comfort as could be expected. Seated heavily in his chair, Vader lifted one arm listlessly, fingers curling inwards.

"Keep me sane, my love." There were times when he could almost feel her at his back, her arms a noose around his neck. The sweetness of her perfume, a vivid memory, played havoc upon his mind. Indeed, he sometimes caught himself turning as though to catch her there. But Padmé was gone. In time, he supposed, the knowledge would become less obvious in the pain it caused. He closed his eyes, calling to mind the image of his beloved. She was smiling for him, mirth shining in her eyes. That was how she ought to be, always. A tear-stricken face flashed before his mind's eye; a reminder that he hadn't been able to protect that smile and those eyes. An admonishment. Vader pushed away his last memories of her, the recollection bringing to mind his master's words.

Rest did not come easy. The swell of emotion roiling inside of his chest deflated a little at a time for a lack of proper release. He would have some life targets soon enough and then he might unleash his wrath. For the time being, he allowed himself to slip into a meditative trance. Years of training came to his aid, drowning out the din of sorrow and regret. Almost as though he'd been plucked out of the wreck that was his body, he breathed in gingerly. A brief moment of freedom where he could imagine he wasn't tethered to heavy, awkward limbs.

He allowed free rein to his senses. The slow expansion was marked by a tumult of voices, all speaking at once. As a rule Vader did not linger upon the conversation of the ship's crew. It was meaningless chatter meant to fill the void, to alleviate some of the loneliness, if only by the white noise of indecipherable exchanges. As ever, there were some who thought themselves at leisure to waste time with idle chatter. The exercise went on for some time, until he found himself bored.

Nearby, a pair of feet walked lightly. He recognised the presence rather than the sound of those footfalls. It seemed the frightened hare his master thought to use was more relaxed when not under watchful eyes. Failing to detect any other presence near her, he assumed she thought herself relatively safe. Sheer curiosity pushed him to probe further. Something like contentment fluttered weak wings in time with the beating of the girl's heart. Vader surmised she took some comfort in her solitude. He wished he might replicate her response to isolation, but found, much to his annoyance, that the little glimmer of gratification compelled him to sharpen his attention upon the body of origin.

What else was there to do when no immediate danger reared its head? Time had ever gone against his wishes, Vader considered, momentarily relaxing his vigilance in order to lift his hand. The flesh and metal abided by his will. He pulled his lightsabre in hand. The Jedi hiding on Naboo would fall to his hand. He had yet to decide whether he would attempt to refine the speed of his attack or increase the strength behind his swings. The trouble was that even with the best of efforts, he was nowhere near as agile as he'd been before Mustafar. Metal fingers wrapped around the handle of his weapon in a brutal grip. The display of force eased his turmoil none and thus he searched out the fountain of ease nearby.

How odd to think that he'd once known similar sentiments, but stronger. The Grand Moff's dependant seemed to live everything at a slower pace, a lesser intensity. As though she might better protect herself if no particular feeling gripped her. Something of a less pleasant nature lurked beneath the simplicity of her immediate emotions. Vader felt his lips curl. He pulled back, unwilling to peel away any of her layers.

* * *

The attack came as a surprise. Vader gripped the bannister, not for balance, but to keep himself in check. A heavy ship as the one they were aboard of would not have an easy time of proceeding with evasive manoeuvres and they couldn't afford to barrel through the line of X-wings. "My lord, what are your orders?" the officer at his side asked.

"Man the TIE fighters." It was a daring attack, if a needless one. He considered what reason could have motivated such an outburst of violence when by all means the outward mission was one of peace. Of course, there was always the possibility that the rebels were simply dull-witted and did not understand the need to bide their time. The ship lurched to the side, one of the shots landing, no doubt, in a sensitive area. There was no time to waste.

He boarded his own TIE fighter, leading the men out. It felt liberating to be able to confront one's foes. Vader relished the opportunity to tear into the attackers. Not so much for the fact that he was wining a battle, but for the knowledge that he crushed all opposition before it gained strength. If only he could figure out what it was these people were after. In the end, it proved an easy fight to win. The X-wings had not been numerous to begin with and the way they'd organised themselves left much to be desired. His men managed to wipe out the two thirds before the remaining lot retreated to ground. He needn't have concerned himself.

Returning to the docking bay, Vader exited his craft, somewhat taken aback to see the Representative rush past him. She approached one of the pilots who had just drawn his palm away from what looked to be an open wound. Immediately, her hands reached for the gaping lesion. The noise kept her words from his ears. He had no trouble, however, taking note of the way she insistently spoke until the bewildered pilot allowed her to guide him to the edge of the bay and sit him on a bench.

A medical droid, one of the many engaged to see to the wounded, took the matter on from there. She did not leave the man's side until a few more words had been exchanged. Her companion gave a nod and with a reluctant step put distance between them. Of somewhat more decisiveness, the girl returned the disembarking pilots, seemingly intent on looking them over. Before long he caught her eye. Vader could not say he was displeased when she paused visibly. The woman she'd been speaking to saw him as well and, presumably the mute exchange, and excused herself. He caught only an assurance that she had suffered no injury.

"Lord Vader," she acknowledged him, brow furrowing gently. "I trust you are unharmed." Harsh breathing filled the silence between them as he considered her.

"You have medical knowledge then?" Hare like still, she flinched at the sound of his voice. So soft and fragile, so easily broken. Her lips parted, but no sound came. It reminded him of the gala and his master's attempt to converse with her.

"Not enough to be of real help, I'm afraid," Melia Motti offered. "But I can help just about anyone to a medical droid." She nodded sharply in the wake of those words. "And I can at least distract the unlucky few who have been hit." Seemingly coming to her senses, she made to depart, "Look at me, standing here prattling. If you will excuse me, my lord, I am going to the medical wing." Prattling, indeed. That was the most he'd heard out of her thus far.

Before he might come to a decision regarding his next step, the fleet Commander approached. Baris Lon gave a brief summary of his report before bringing forth a more pressing matter, "It does not seem a well thought out attack, my lord. Could it be this is a splinter cell on some mission of its own?"

"To lure us away, you mean." The man nodded, pointing out that the remaining X-wings had indeed gone to ground, but it was in the direction opposite the Capital of the planet. "I have considered it. They were hoping to engage us and distract us, but for the moment our objective remains capturing the Jedi knight on this world before they depart." It made sense. He too would have offered up some bait in order to take eyes away from the true mission. Crafty though the Naboo may be, he was craftier still and had the superior strength. "Our losses?"

"Four dead and six TIE fighters inoperative. We can fix the damage on the crafts after we've landed. We also have three critical cases; we need bacta tanks."

"The droids can keep them alive until the necessary materials are acquired?" The Commander nodded. That was enough to satisfy him for the time being. Vader took his leave of the man, making for the small area which had been before convened would serve as sick bay if need ever arose.

Just as she'd said she would, the girl was sitting at the head of one of the pilots, a young man, one of the critical cases by the way she stroked his head. Blood coated the side of his face, pouring from a cut lining his temple. Melia smoothed back his hair and swiped at the wound with what looked to be clean gauze. Meantime one of the droids was working on the man's torso. The hand which had been in the man's hair, reached over to grasp one of his fists. She worked on unclenching his fingers and linking them with hers.

Her voice carried. "Listen to me, listen to me now. You'll be just fine." The pilot had a gabled reply. Vader doubted she'd be able to understand a thing. She continued soothing him nevertheless, "We'll get you in a nice bacta tank and you'll be as good as new. Back to flying in no time." The hand not holding his wiped blood away once again.


	5. Chapter 5

_To Nolly: Thank you very much. I hope you will continue to enjoy it. :)_

 _Everyone else, please enjoy, likewise._

* * *

There was blood running down the leg of her pants. There was blood of her hands, and some more blood muddying the shine of her boots. Would there be blood on the soles of her boots as well if she looked? Melia accepted a bit of water as a droid poured it into her hands and she washed the pinks and reds away from her skin. There was no saving her uniform.

"Ma'am, we should be on our way." The voice broke her out of her reverie. Melia glanced over her shoulder at Ti'ra Qahr, her assistant in all matters political. Forcing a nod along, she assured that she was just about ready. "Delays are frowned upon," Ti'ra supplied. She was a rather tall woman of athletic built, graceful and deadly, as far as her file had indicated. Melia prayed the stars there would never be any need to call upon her talents.

Locking eyes with Ti'ra, she answered in her own placating manner. "Then we had best be on our way. Mirrum, is all in order?"

Mirrum Bunrich, visibly smaller than her colleague, came to stand next to Ti'ra. "I've made certain the orders you gave were carried out. If that is all, we can certainly be on our way."

"They were not orders," she protested the choice of words. "Merely suggestions." It felt inelegant to hear these people address her words as orders. Cold sweat gathered at her nape. Melia resisted the urge to rub at the cold, damp spot. She instead tugged at the hem of her tunic, making certain the material was well stretched.

"With all due respect, ma'am," Mirrum spoke, "there isn't a difference between the two in the imperial army." That she hadn't considered. Melia kept her peace on the matter, electing to move around the two women.

The craft was landing. Melia walked with Ti'ra and Mirrum just behind her, praying the stars that she would not embarrass herself by casting her accounts or fainting or some such nonsense. Thankfully, none such worry was to be actualised and she managed to present a calm front to the convoy of Naboo come to greet them.

She recognised a few faces from her files. They were grim faces, though the thin layer of polite interest she saw there did wonders for her own equilibrium. She knew how to act in a world that expected her to play a role. So she played it well, painting a smile across her face as she moved forth, holding her arms out and slightly upwards. "Senator Arknan, what a welcome this has been."

"Not one of my choosing," the man replied calmly, taking hold of her hands in his own. "The Queen awaits the arrival of your party. Naturally, she is anxious that this unforeseen circumstance does not affect our talk."

She looked to Vader then, more so to assure herself that he was yet with her than for answer, but all the same she knew she'd made a mistake but a moment later. Returning her attention to the other man, she squeezed his hands with her own. "The Queen and I shall speak."

Most of their greeting party contained members chosen with great care. They were loyal to the empire, it was said, and would pave the way towards a fruitful negotiation process, if the old pillars did not put themselves in the path. For herself, Melia knew it was not her place to lead any such talks. She only hoped that whatever the Empror wished to achieve, she'd not be too deeply immersed. Gently looking to the side, she was surprised to see Lord Vader standing there. She'd not heard him move. Tentatively, she addressed him. "My lord, will you join us?"

He was watching her. She met his gaze out of necessity; Melia could not say what it was he saw in her eyes or what it was he wished to find, for that matter, but she could feel him probing for he did so with impunity and no thought for her own wishes. The loud sound of his breaths punctured the silence periodically. "I have other matters to attend," he spoke in the end.

That she had to accept. He was not tied to her in the same way she was tied to him and that caused her worry. "Very well." And to consider she had yet to see him in action. Nodding once more as though for confirmation, she moved on, and allowed herself to be drawn away and tugged along the path to what seemed to be a small ship, constructed for speed.

The Queen had wished to see them well settled in, she was told when they took her to a set of chambers which would house her and her women. She did not ask when she would be brought before Apailana; that would come in its own time, she reckoned, and she must be patient. With that in mind, she saw to disrobing and walking into the bathroom. Fully outfitted, it presented a grand opportunity to wash away not only the dust and blood, but also the memories. For a time.

She allowed the rain of warm water to soak her skin, leaning her forehead against the cool tiles. Melia closed her eyes, hands needing no light to move and clean and make her ready to face the world once more. She had to be strong; no one had harmed her, but the men tasked with protecting her had sustained injury. She owed it to them to see them and ease their burden as much as she could. What little she could do, however, she might not complete unless she found her way out of the shell erected to keep the pain for gnawing at her. She stepped out of the shower and dried herself.

Outside, in the greater chamber, fresh clothes had been laid out for her. It was an imperial's wardrobe that she had carried with her, thus she was unsurprised to see yet another black grab. She tugged it on and placed her cap so that it might conceal her eyes for the moment.

Ti'ra cleared her throat. "Ma'am, what are your orders?"

"I wish to see the injured men." And her wishes were to be carried out as orders, as had been explained to her. Melia followed the woman. She must have been given some information on the layout of the palace, for she seemed to know precisely where she could find the men. There were bacta tanks and medical droids and even a few human medics working on various soldiers.

Approaching the first of the beds, she looked down into the face of a sedated man. The droid did not pause in the slightest, continuing to work. She took the man's hand, patting it gently. He would sleep off the worst of the pain, she gathered, and she had others to see as well. But before she left his side, Melia was certain to look for his name. Should he wake before any others, she would keep him company where she could, she decided.

Many were in worse conditions than the first and she could not help but ache at the sight of slashed limbs and wide burns. Melia winced as yet another caught her eyes. She sidled closer and sat upon a chair. The one working on him was a young man, garbed in soft greys; he took a brief moment to gaze upon her. There was something kin his eyes, something like pity, or understanding; sometimes one entailed the other. She looked away from the stranger, considering what she could do for these men. Other than finding the ones responsible for the situation and punishing them, she could think of little else that might appease them. They were soldiers; they were not men like her father who would flee at the first sight of trouble.

In the end, she had checked upon each and every single one of them until she was satisfied that they would live. A stroke of luck, she did not doubt; the stars had watched over them. She could but hope that they would continue to do so. Before she might take her leave of them, however, she was stopped by the approach of the same medical staff member that had previously watched her.

He placed a hand upon her shoulder, his open countenance marking the gesture for benign concern rather than rude daring. "You need not hide," he said, voice gentle, making her wonder how it was that he should know her innermost feelings when she had done her best to keep them in the darkness. All the same, she took a step back, her surprise tinted with concern. "You do not know that ripples are easily and very readily observed upon a calm surface." Melia could not argue that. And yet she had done her very best not to let it show. Timidity, shame, acceptance and annoyance; she could display any of those without concern. Pain was different. It was far more intimate; far more hers.

To push back felt natural. She rejected him with her whole being, seeking to hide away that which ought never to see the light. "One hopes the night would act as shield, whether one laughs or cries." There were some things, she reasoned for her own benefit, that once uncovered, once acknowledged would suffocate a body until there was nothing left. To her surprise, she met understanding once more. Perturbed, she sought a path to freedom. Melia was not a book to be read; she read others when she could and when she could not, she accepted that they must be as walls to one another.

The hand upon her shoulder fell to her own and squeezed. "My stars, you must have truly forgotten me to be having such a look about you." She started at the words and squinted, as though she couldn't quite make out his face. "Melia Motti, your memory fails you." The more she looked at him, the less she thought she recognised. The trouble was that her own mind proved the greatest enemy, for it pushed her in every which direction in the hopes of grasping at least a wisp of knowledge. He chuckled and spared her the suffering in the end, by making claim of an identity she had some notion of. "Your old friend Lascomb is most disappointed."

No wonder he'd unbalanced her. Melia frowned. "I would have never thought to find you in such a position. I thought you had no stomach for sickly and wounded." Shaking her head, as though to dislodge the thought, she went on, "And yet here you are."

"And yet here I am." Finally he let go of her hand. "What is this I hear of you having taken on a Junior Representative position?" he questioned, keeping the tone light. There was very much she could read into the query, if she so chose; but then what would be the point? All communication was a search for hidden meaning at its core.

"It is precisely as you've heard, I reckon. I am as you see me." She had been her father's daughter for a time. Then she became the Grand Moff's, even if he chose not to make use of her, and thereafter she was the Emperor's. Melia smiled at her old companion; the less he knew, the better. "Shall I see you at the Queen's feast?"

"A lowly servant of the monarchy? To be sure." He winked at her, his good humour barrelling to the forefront. "But that is yet some time away and I understand, from your presence here, that you are not otherwise engaged."

She allowed it to be so. "Why? Have you some time to spare for me?" She could not deny that she would be glad enough for his company, if only to make herself feel more comfortable. "Very well then, what plans have you in mind?"

"Nothing too daring, I promise you. Some local cuisine, a walk in the gardens. The works, my dear, the works." He put his arm about her shoulders, the small difference in their heights making the gesture a comfortable one, very much conducive to the creating a veil of intimacy around them. She heard, rather than saw, her guardians fall into line, and walked with greater confidence for having them with her. If Lascomb was bothered by their companions, he said not a word, but led the small party into a long, well-lit corridor, great windows allowing a great deal of light to flood their surroundings.

The gardens were fairly easy to reach, a small stretch of greenery and flowers, arranged in pleasing patterns. Some of the plants were very much unrecognisable, though Melia never believed herself truly knowledgeable regarding the flora of the galaxy. There were benches, a fair few, placed beneath trees. It looked very much as a painting of old. A very pretty picture to put one aft ease. She sat with Lascomb, waiting for him to speak.

They spoke for a time quietly between them, reminiscing about their childhood memories. There was much to be said, though their friendship had never been a deep one. "There were so many of us back then, all of us idealistic children," he was saying, speaking of the children of the compound. "I never returned once after I left. I've not heard from anyone in years."

"I cannot say I have more knowledge than you. I left shortly after you. You know, I never wanted to return, not once." He looked at her with something akin to pity. Melia did not particularly care for his thoughts on the matter, but still she had spoken the words, thus she must bear the burden. "Besides, what should I have done with my life there?"

"I suppose I must allow for that, although, you do know you might have well married into one of the greater families of the star cluster." That had always been an option, she considered, although knowing her kin she would not have been allowed a moment's happiness. Brides of political allegiances need not feel as though they were being cheated of a joyful existence, except that it so happened that the choices that had been then discussed would make her miserable in various ways. She would have accepted a half decent match, only that none had presented itself.

"The great families of the star cluster do not look kindly upon orphans, be they of good stock, as it were; even if some are desperate enough to feign indifference for the right sum of credits." Her words were met with enough approval that she knew herself to be thoroughly understood. "At least you are not trying to convince me of the opposite."

"You aren't a fool. You might try it now, nevertheless; a Junior Representative is nothing to scoff at." She could not help but laugh. "My advice, my dear, is to make this a short stint. The Empire is yet on shaky ground and may allow for some difference of opinion, but soon enough, matters will be different."

How to tell him she had been more or less given no choice into entering service? "If you have some lonely soul in mind, I am perfectly willing to listen." Better not to make mention of it; he could not aid her and she could do little for him. "But only after the Queen's banquet. I fear the retribution should I neglect my duties."

"Your duties," Lascomb muttered, in an almost derisive manner. "Your duties had best keep you away from the likes of Lord Vader. Mark my words, he isn't one you want to get too close to. Mel, you've always been good at avoiding trouble; tap into that once more."

"It is not a matter of choice." Lord Vader was impressive and frightening and much too commanding a presence to be ignored. She could not help but he drawn to the mystery he presented, yet knew full well it would be better to not indulge. Thus she decided, after a moment, that she would do as she had always done; she'd ignore all signs of danger, she would deafen herself to all and any signs of cruelty and in the end the stars protected a fool.

She did not need to unravel Lord Vader's mystery. She did not need to know if behind that mask of his was the face of a man or simply circuits and bolts and other such things. She did not need to know a great many deal of things. All the same she wanted it and it needled her. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the notions away.

"Many things are not a matter of choice," Lascomb returned gently. "But many of them are." In that moment, she knew he was aware, to some degree, that whatever she had come to achieve would be met with failure. As for Lord Vader's mission, that was anyone's guess. Although she was willing to get her entire stock of credits that he would not fail. He did not seem the kind to accept defeat. Which was just as well, she supposed, as it meant their stay would be of short duration. "But enough of such talk. Tell me something, will you at least save me a dance?"

"If I must." He would be a more comfortable partner than any she'd had precisely as he would never take the matter seriously. They were, the two of them, much too inured to one another for it to matter. One might wish such was the case for all people one met. "I would prefer that we merely sit together though. You never know, the Queen might well forget what her banquet is for."

"Not likely; I hear she is as sharp as they come." He leaned back slightly. "I will enjoy watching the display."

No doubt he would. He was prone to seeing something amusing wherever he looked.


End file.
